


A Conversation Starter

by Winchestnuts



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Jim can't do feelings, Jim is a little shit and Molly loves it, Married Couple, Mild swears but not really, Minor Character Death, Moriarty Lives, Not Canon Compliant, Returning Home, Romance in a morgue, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Secretly Married, and then they had sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchestnuts/pseuds/Winchestnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I did kill the love of your life. But don’t worry, I’m back now.” </p><p>Or: Jim doesn't deal with jealousy well, Molly will roll her eyes forever at her ridiculous pet criminal, and the two of them could really do with better communication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation Starter

“Did you miss me?” The voice spilling out from the televisionwasn’t Jim’s - Molly didn’t need any amount of technology to discern this, she knew that voice only too well, from cold nights spent in whispers and blankets and maybe even a little karaoke. The voice was distorted, enough to cause uncertainty, but Moriarty would want to plant doubt into Mycroft’s (not Sherlock’s, the consulting detective _knew_ him, even if it was his big brother than had the equipment to separate fact from instinct) mind as soon as possible. Jim’s return was about intimidation, and nothing was more threatening than a fear of the unknown.

Whilst the voice booming out of the speakers wasn’t Jim, the face definitely was. The clip was too careful in making itself look forged and Molly suspected the style to be that of Sebastian Moran than Jim Moriarty.

Seb Moran was a genius, but Moriarty was better.

“Idiot,” she muttered. Jim would be pissed off if Mycroft had deconstructed his return because Sherlock could have a chance to deduce all there was to deduce. Seb should have realised that.

Although she’d known this was coming, the sight of her (currently) ex-partner had been a shock. And after all, he hadn’t told her exactly when he planned on returning (part of the reason they’d temporarily broken up) so she couldn’t be blamed for being surprised that it was happening now. Of course, it could just be that Jim was angry at the idea of Magnussen stealing his place as Sherlock’s favourite nemesis. It wouldn’t be the first time the consulting criminal’s jealousy had gotten the best of him.

 _Neither will it be the last_ , Molly realised, as she turned and walked back into the morgue where a covered body was suddenly there on the table where there had been nothing but paperwork before. She didn’t scream. If she screamed it would only be more trouble for her, trying to explain to a worried co-worker where the extra John Doe had come from.

Walking towards the desk (couldn’t he have had the decency to place it on the morgue table at least, _really_?), Molly placed an only-slightly-shaking hand on the sheet and pulled it back, revealing dull (dead) blue (dead) eyes and brunette curls.

 _Oh_. Not a John Doe then. Molly blinked, breathing deeply for a few moments before turning around to face a pair of quick (alive) brown (alive) eyes.

“Jim,” she breathed.

“Did you miss me?” This time the mocking voice was very real, and definitely his. And so was the hard slap that Molly planted on his right cheek. “I’ll take that for a yes, my darling.” The second slap stung even more. “That much, huh?” He caught her wrist and pulled it in towards his lips, kissing the soft red skin on her palm gently. “I’m flattered, really.”

Jim’s smile was smaller than usual. Molly sighed, leaning in against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Catching sight of the corpse on her desk (inconsiderate bastard), she said, “You didn’t have to kill him.”

“Missing your little consulting detective, are you Molls?” His voice was smooth and dangerous and made Molly shiver, curling even more into the consulting criminal’s embrace.

“You know there was never a competition. It’s always been you, you bloody idiot.”

“You can hardly blame me for killing your fiancé.”

“ _Ex_ -fiancé. And I really can.” She played with his hand as she spoke, memorising the creases, the scars, the blemishes, all over again. There were three more marks than she’d left him with. The tan line on his finger told her that he’d still been wearing the ring. It was dangerous; the ring was an identifier, anyone could tell who he was just by looking at it. Molly had long since moved hers to a simple silver chain burning against her chest. Yet Jim had left his on, all the while doing his usual perilous business, only to (nervously - Jim Moriarty was nervous because of her) work it off of his finger before meeting her, a clumsy act of nonchalance. “It wasn’t like I would have married him anyway. I needed a cover.”

“You never did like to break laws, Mrs...”

“ _Miss_ Hooper. Besides, for God’s sake Jim, Tom was a lawyer! Your lawyer. And a good one too.”

“Toby didn’t like him,” Jim muttered. Burying his nose in Molly’s hair (Molly Moriarty, even if she did insist on keeping her own name for boring reasons like _safety_ ), he kissed down the side of her cheek until he reached the corner of her mouth. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Of course. The cat didn’t like him so he had to die. It’s almost sweet.” But her nod showed her understanding and she kissed him back, so Jim knew he was more or less forgiven.

“Well you know how much I adore that cat, _Miss_ Molly.” It was a compromise. If she wouldn’t take his surname, then he wouldn’t refer to her by anything but her forename. It made her laugh at least. He was stubborn and cruel and she loved it. He was compassionate and thoughtful and she loved it. He was also careful, and that she loved, although less than his other traits. While Jim could never tell her outright how he felt, it was implied in every gesture, towards her and her cat.

“Toby loves you too, of course.” _I love you_ , said her eyes and his responded in kind. “But I still think you’re a dick for killing Tom.”

“We can discuss my morality over dinner.” Jim’s voice didn’t even shake, surprisingly enough. Murderers he could face; _tax-collectors_ he could face. But his tongue felt like lead weighing down his lower jaw the moment he tried to ask his wife to dinner. Pathetic.

“I think not,” Molly replied, gesturing towards the cadaver on her desk (she was very pissed off about that, he could tell). “When someone leaves the remains of my ex-fiancé on my desk, I tend to be a little busy.”

Smirking, Jim clicked his fingers. An army of silent workers - people who posed as doctors, nurses, surgeons just to keep an eye on Molly Hooper - traipsed in and stole away the body, as soon as it had appeared. “Dear Thomas was only ever a conversation starter. Now, love, dinner?”

“What makes you think I want to have dinner with you?” Asked Molly as she stalked away, grabbing her coat and bag. “You could have just killed the love of my life.”

“I did kill the love of your life. But don’t worry, I’m back now.” They shared a grin (his smug, hers exasperated) and Molly took her husband’s hand in hers, caressing the spot where the ring should be.

“Put it on. The ring. Your hand feels wrong.” He complied immediately, and she twisted it gently, trying not to smile (beam) at how willing (eager) Jim was to please her. Holding each other close, they all but ran to the door. Molly signed out. Jim clicked his heel against the floor impatiently until her touch warmed his skin again. After that, it was a race to escape to the black car and its darkened windows. Seb would be driving; he’d hear them, of course, but it would hardly be the first time.

As they emerged from the hospital into the harsh sunlight, Jim whispered, “I missed you too, by the way. Just in case there was any doubt about that.” The third slap never did come, as Molly’s fingers were busy clumsily tangling themselves in his hair as she bruised her lips against him, no longer bothering to control her beam.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about half an hour, so a bit jumpy and rough and it didn't really end up how I wanted it but it's three am and I don't care. Someone tell me if my tenses jump since I usually write in present tense. I just have a lot of feelings about Jim killing Tom. Also morgue romance. And dysfunctional married couples. Feedback appreciated.


End file.
